


Unintentional

by dsa_archivist



Category: due South
Genre: Drama, M/M, Series: Victims of Love, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2000-07-03
Updated: 2000-07-03
Packaged: 2018-11-10 13:13:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,719
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11127672
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dsa_archivist/pseuds/dsa_archivist
Summary: Fraser has to come to terms...This story is a sequel toUnwise.





	Unintentional

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Speranza, the archivist: this story was once archived at [Due South Archive](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Due_South_Archive). To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in June 2017. I tried to reach out to all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [Due South Archive collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/duesoutharchive).

Unintentional - by Ashinae  


**Rating/Warning:** PG. Nothing much except a depressed Mountie.   
**Pairing:** Fraser/Vecchio   
**Disclaimer:** They don't belong to me. They may be bruised and battered, but I promise to put them back as they were when I'm done playing.   
**Spoilers:** Not a one.   
**Summary:** Fraser has to come to terms...   
**Notes:** Someone's still with me? I'm amazed, simply amazed...   
I have been told, at gunpoint, that I must apologise for Jo to *anyone* who has read her "Ghosts of Home" that we posted last night. She made an error in the number of provinces in Canada, and didn't even mention territories. She feels like an absolute ass and wants to apologise right now. (Not that I blame her - I feel like an ass too for not even catching on when I looked over the story for her!) She *is* Canadian, and patriotic and proud, but we *all* make mistakes sometimes! 

Feedback? Pretty please? 

* * * * *

**UNINTENTIONAL** \- July, 2000   
by Ashinae 

I don't know who I am anymore. 

I don't know anything. 

I leave Ray's apartment feeling disgusted and violated. Disgusted with him, disgusted with myself, digusted with the world. He didn't deserve that. 

He wanted it. 

He didn't want it. 

He didn't say no. 

I said no several times. At least... up until tonight. 

What have I *done?* What possessed me to do it? 

I've never been so angry in my life as I was with him tonight. 

What's wrong with me? 

I start walking, not knowing where it is I'm heading. The night is overcast, not a single star can be seen, the moon is obscured, and it smells like rain. It's perfect, simply *perfect,* for the way I feel. 

When I suddenly stop walking, I glance up to see the Vecchio house standing right in front of me. I hadn't even realised I was heading in this direction. Had I meant to come here in the first place? Maybe, somewhere in my subconscious, I felt like this was my last resort. My old life is gone... this is all I have left, but is it mine at all? Of course not. It's Ray's house, after all. But... I had been here so many times, up until he left. 

Would I be welcome? Naturally. 

Do I feel I *should* be welcomed? No. 

I've betrayed Ray. In the most horrible way possible. I shouldn't be here, shouldn't soil this home with my presence. 

And yet I walk up to the front door and ring the doorbell anyway. 

Mrs. Vecchio opens the door and looks both surprised and delighted to see me. "Benton!" she exclaims. "What are you doing here?" 

"I--" I falter, words not coming. "I just... needed to see a familiar face, I guess..." 

She doesn't question me. She steps aside. "Come in, caro, come in!" 

I force a grateful smile and step into the warm, inviting atmosphere. The house is quiet save for the music playing. I can't place it. "Where is everyone?" I ask. 

"Maria and Tony took the children away for the week," Mrs. Vecchio replies. "And Francesca has a date." 

"Ah." 

I hate myself. 

"Have you eaten dinner, Benton?" Mrs. Vecchio asks. 

"Um, yes." 

"Would you like something to eat?" 

*God, no.* "If you have anything, that would be nice. But if not..." 

Mrs. Vecchio takes my arm and leads me to the kitchen, sitting me down at the table. "There is some leftover garlic bread--" 

"Perfect." I'm not even hungry. I shouldn't want food. "Thank you." 

She smiles. "How much would you like?" 

"... Whatever there is, I suppose..." 

The leftovers turn out to be six thick slices. Despite my protestations, Mrs. Vecchio puts the slices in the oven to warm them up and melt some cheese over them. She sits at the table and watches me devour the bread. I can tell she's concerned about me. It has been a very long time since she's seen me, but Mrs. Vecchio is a very perceptive woman. I think she can almost feel the pain radiating off me. I finish up and thank her again. She touches my shoulder before she puts the plate in the sink. 

"Do you mind if I... borrow your shower?" I ask suddenly. I want to wash away the memories of tonight, but I am well aware of what a futile gesture that will be. 

There is the briefest of pauses before Mrs. Vecchio replies, "Of course, caro." She leads me upstairs and pulls some towels and a terry-cloth robe from the linen closet. I take them from her and lean down to kiss her cheek. 

"Thank you, Ma." The word slips out unbidden and I try not to cringe. I shouldn't call her that. I should fall down on my knees and beg her for forgiveness for what I've done to her son. For what I've done to Ray Kowalski. For everything I've ever done in my life. 

I wish the ground would open up and swallow me whole. But that seems extraordinarily unlikely. 

But Mrs. Vecchio just pats my arm and heads back downstairs. 

Once in the shower, I turn on the water, getting it to a temperature much warmer than I generally enjoy it. I search for the soap and for some shampoo that doesn't smell like flowers. I shed my clothes, letting them fall unheeded to the floor, and step under the steaming spray of water. I let it pound down on my back for a few moments before my head falls back and I let the water rush down on my face. 

Why is it that every time I *don't* need someone's assistance, my father pops in for a visit, just to complicate things and make everything generally irritating? And then, when I really *do* need someone, the world seems devoid of *anyone* willing to pop in and comfort me? 

Tears spill down my face, mixing with the shower's water, and I try to remain quiet. I grab the soap and a hand-towel, and try to wash away the feel of Ray Kowalski from my body, to wash away everything I am feeling, because right now I don't want to feel, don't want to think... 

I don't know how long I stay in the shower. It's probably the longest one I've ever had in my entire life. Finally, I grudgingly turn off the water and step out, taking another towel to dry myself. I pull my boxer shorts back on, and think about simply putting my clothes back on. Instead I reach out for the robe and envelop myself in its warmth--I can't seem to stay warm all of a sudden, despite the steam-filled room and how hot the shower was--and only then do I realise that the robe smells like *him,* smells like *Ray,* *my* Ray who isn't my Ray anymore because I've betrayed him. Betrayed him... betrayed him... 

The words echo through my head and suddenly I fall to my knees in front of the toilet and start wretching violently. Tears are running down my face and my stomach is churning and it *hurts* it all hurts *too much.* 

*Oh God above,* I pray silently, *make it end, all of it, take my life, take everything!* 

But my prayers aren't answered. Not that I expect them to be. 

I fall back and lean against the side of the tub, sobbing brokenly. I suppose I didn't lock the door, because Mrs. Vecchio comes in, face concerned, and I look at her through a sea of tears that I can't stop, that won't stop. 

"Oh, Benton," she says softly, and kneels down next to me and pulls me to her without another word. 

I'm crying harder now, burying my face in her shoulder and wrapping my arms around her. *What* have I done? 

I never intended for any of this to happen. Nothing from the past two years. But then, most of us never *intend* for anything to happen, do we? I *intended* to live my life happily with Ray Vecchio. 

Things just happen. 

Or am I just lying to myself? 

Finally my tears stop, though the grief doesn't. Mrs. Vecchio pulls back and looks at me, the concern still evident in her eyes. She wipes away my tears and helps me to my feet. 

"Would you like to stay here tonight?" she asks. 

I nod weakly. She touches my face and heads out of the bathroom. I grab my clothes and follow her. I see her go into Ray's bedroom and I think I am going to be ill again. I step cautiously inside, and watch from the doorway as she pulls back the blankets. She looks up at me and smiles in a comforting sort of way. 

"If you need *anything,*" she says, "don't hesitate to ask." 

"Yes, Ma," I say softly, and there's the word again that I shouldn't be using. "Thank you." 

She steps up to me and kisses my cheek, and then gently pushes me into the room, and leaves, closing the door behind her. 

I stare at the bed. For a long time. Then I sigh softly, and turn back to the door, opening it a crack and glancing into the hallway. Mrs. Vecchio must be downstairs again. I head to the linen closet and take out a blanket, then return to Ray's room, closing the door firmly behind me. I kneel down next to his bed and pull out the thin mattress that I know is kept under there. I take a pillow from his closet, take a moment to make his bed again, then lie down on the mattress on the floor, still wearing his robe. 

It takes me a long time to fall asleep. I don't dream, at least not that I remember, and when I wake up the house is still silent. I organise Ray's room again, and dress, putting the blanket and robe in the clothes hamper at the end of the hall. Quietly, I head downstairs and leave Mrs. Vecchio a thank you note on the kitchen table. Even more cautiously, I leave the house. For reasons I can't explain, I am not looking forward to today. 

The day gets worse when Inspector Thatcher hands me a stack of files and tells me to run them over to the Precinct. 

FIN.


End file.
